


Impact

by rabidfan



Series: Collision [1]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-08-19 08:56:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16531427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabidfan/pseuds/rabidfan
Summary: Being the only Sentinel on the expedition is tiring





	Impact

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Torn](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16504571) by [stargatesg1971](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stargatesg1971/pseuds/stargatesg1971). 



> Yes, this is a continuation/rework of Collision (and Not Brazil but Not British Columbia Either), mostly told through John's perspective. You don't _have_ to read Collision (or Not Brazil but not British Columbia Either) to understand it. Mind you, I'd _like_ you to read Collision (and Not Brazil but Not British Columbia Either) but it absolutely isn't necessary. Just saying.

**Then:**

Beeping medical equipment were the first sounds John Sheppard heard on regaining his senses. 

So. Not dead.

The second sound that registered was the clatter of keys on a keyboard and the soft grumblings of the typist. He was careful to remain impassive, still, when the stranger put his hand on his shoulder.

“John, wake up, you’re safe. We found you and brought you to the SGC. You’re safe. You can open your eyes.”

Sheppard’s Sentinel reflexes snapped on line as he opened his eyes. The stranger smiled with obvious delight. “You do like to be a surprise, don’t you?”

John ground his teeth. All the years of hiding his unwanted Sentinel status, moving unknown through his years in the military and in his civilian career in law enforcement, shot all to hell. No one had ever guessed before today.

“Did you just growl at me? You did, didn’t you? This is going to be interesting.”

The still unknown man left John shaking with rage, unable to free himself and dreading what must surely come.

Now:

“When Major is released from his meeting ask him please to speak to Atlantis. Perhaps she will share with him the schematics for drones. They are still so unknown, we could use help, no?” Radek asked wistfully. Being able to ‘talk’ to Atlantis, to get detailed information from her on their thousands of questions was the dream of all the scientists working within the city.

Rodney snorted. “We can dream I suppose.”

Then:

“I’m not going to tire him out, Carson. He’s going to be sitting down the whole time, not running a marathon.” Rodney absolutely wasn’t wheedling. A McKay never wheedled. “I want to show him the labs.”

…

“So, this gene lets me use all this junk?” Sheppard shifted in his chair, unwilling to admit that he was tired and hurting. He hoped his ‘tour’ wouldn’t go on much longer.

“It’s not junk, Sheppard,” Rodney defended. “These are artifacts of an ancient race, one so advanced we’re barely scratching the surface of their scientific knowledge.” Stretching, he held a glass sphere out for John to take. “We’re hoping with your help that we will be able to make some real advances in our research.”

John nearly dropped the paperweight when it lit up happily and beamed images onto the walls and ceiling of the lab.

“So…not a paperweight, then?”

Now:

John relaxed into the control chair, letting the interface with Atlantis form. He wasn’t sure how this was supposed to work. The tech he’d handled so far just needed a mental nudge and it worked. How did he ‘talk’ to an alien city? Would it read his mind? Should he address it (she?) out loud?

Deciding the mind-meld approach would be marginally less embarrassing, John closed his eyes and tried to contact Atlantis. He pictured as clearly as he could what it was that they needed from her (her, definitely her) and hoped for the best. He was unprepared for the onslaught of data she sent him.

“Whoa,” Rodney whispered, awed. He reached over to put his hand on John’s knee. “See if you can slow the data stream down, John. It’s overwhelming the computers.”

“What is it, John. Are you injured?” Rodney began patting him down, looking for obvious damage. John seemed uninjured, though he was a little winded.

Having already given himself a mental pat down (fingers, toes still attached? Check.) he gently batted Rodney’s questing hands aside. “I’m fine. I’m good.”

“Why did you disengage, Major?” Radek sounded concerned as well.

“Because we have everything we need. Atlantis will finish the download at a slower rate but we have a tool we can use against the Wraith.” John rose on slightly shaky legs. “We can stop the Wraith.”

Then:

“Detective Sheppard…or I suppose I should say Major Sheppard, it’s good to see you back on your feet.” General O’Neill smirked at John’s near knee-jerk reaction to salute a superior officer. “Never goes away…your only hope is to stay around long enough to outrank everyone.” He tapped the stars on his collar. “If I can, you can.”

Shaking his head at the impossibility if that, John nodded at O’Neill and then noticed one of the two visitors’ chairs in the office was taken by General Landry. Great. Two of them. With a barely suppressed groan, John lowered himself into the remaining chair. 

John knew he should be grateful to the military for his miraculous rescue from the desert. He’d expected to die from his encounter with an actual alien from outer space…had come damn close to doing just that. So, he should be grateful.

But he wasn’t.

With an outward appearance of patience, he waited for one of the generals to tell him why he’d been sent for. He was sure it wouldn’t be anything good.

“Did I mention that Dr. McKay has requested permission to bond with you, Major? Since you don’t have a guide and all?”

Yeah, not anything good. Years of passing for normal and now he’s going to be saddled with the pissy scientist and chipped, ‘properly identified’ for the rest of his life. That was assuming he didn’t end up in Leavenworth for failing to self-disclose his Sentinel status.

Now:

John went in search of his tardy Guide. The scientists had been working around the clock for a week to make the changes needed to produce the new drones. They had given an additional week as the time needed to produce enough to take down a hiveship. The ‘borrowed’ pilots from the SGC had arrived earlier in the week and were working just as hard to be ready.

What could be done had been done. It was time to get some sleep.

Then:

“Go over it again, Major.” Pherson snapped. “What do you mean we won’t be killing Wraith. Isn’t that the whole purpose of this exercise?”

“Sir. Atlantis has provided a schematic for an altered drone weapon, using an enhanced explosive and a corrosive, essentially a condensed salt solution, to break down the exoskeleton of a hiveship. If the theory holds, the damage would spread, causing the hive to literally dissolve. If it’s near enough to a planet, it may be able to land and then we’re faced with combat on the ground. Ideally, we face off far enough away from habitable planets that the ship simply fall apart and all the Wraith die with the hive.”

The assembled military personnel exchanged concerned looks. General Landry broke the silence. “We’ll have to run some scenarios. We’ll need manpower and weapons if we’re fighting on the ground. The risk of casualties is high.”

“Atlantis recommends taking down one hive at a time until we have a better idea of the resources needed for a full-scale assault,” John volunteered. “Hopefully, we’ll find a hive far enough out in clear space to keep our first attempt from making it dirt-side.”

“What sort of firepower will be needed, Major. Did Atlantis have anything to say on how many gateships should be deployed?”

Sheppard frowned, “Unfortunately, there is no data available. The Ancient scientists who completed the work on the drone schematic reported that military engagement had pretty much ended by then. The remaining Ancients were more concerned with the move to Earth or achieving Ascension by then to implement the new weapon.” He thought for a minute. “Given what we know about the regenerative abilities of the hives, it would seem prudent to hit it from multiple sides at once.” He frowned again. “We don’t have many trained pilots here. It wasn’t a priority. The marines with the gene have done a remarkable job in learning to fly the jumpers but I wouldn’t feel good about sending them out into this kind of combat situation.”

Pherson nodded, somewhat miffed to find himself in agreement with Sheppard. “He’s right. The marines get from point A to point B but simply lack the experience needed for this kind of op. We’ll need to recruit some volunteers from the SGC.”

…

Sitting through meetings had never been one of Sheppard’s favorite pastimes. Sitting through meetings populated with out of sorts military personnel and excited, defensive scientists ranked at the bottom of the very unfavorable scale.

“Dr. Zelenka, can you make the alterations to the drone manufacturing matrix or not?” General Landry was not enjoying the meeting either.

“Given sufficient time, yes.” Zelenka pushed his glasses aggressively up his nose. “Probably.” Sighing, he gestured to forestall Rodney’s impending outburst. “Science is not driven by desires of military, yes? We can only do what we can do. We want to stop the Wraith as much as you, General, so we will do what we can.”

General Landry nodded, accepting the truth of the matter. “Thank you Dr. Zelenka, Dr. McKay. Keep me informed of your progress.”

Taking that as a dismissal, the science staff made a dash for the exit. Rodney spared a glance at John, trying to ascertain if he’d be okay on his own.

John smiled wryly and gave his Guide a nod to move him along.

…

The hiveship hung in space unmoving but not dead.

“This one seems to be our best option for a trial run. We believe the hives need solar radiation to regenerate so it would seem this one has taken on some damage. If we can get to it before it starts moving again we may be able to pick it off.”

Pherson turned from the screen showing the hive and faced the five pilots sitting in a semi-circle in front of him. “It’s nearly a two-hour run from the nearest gate to the location of the hive. It’s far from known population centers, so that’s good, but the travel time isn’t optimal.”

“Major, you’re leading this mission, do you have anything to add?”

John straightened his slouch. “The sooner we leave the sooner we’re home. I’d like to engage that hive while most of it’s systems are powered down.”

“Agreed,” Pherson gathered his papers, signaling for the others to stand. “Get geared up. You launch in sixty.”

Then:

“You’re not worried about this little mission, are you?” John crowded his exhausted Guide towards the bed. He figured as soon as he got Rodney prone he’d be down for the count.

“Of course not. Why would I be worried? My Sentinel is going to use untested drones to take on a hiveship with only five Puddlejumpers. With pilots he’s never worked with. What could I possibly find troublesome about that? The sooner we know if the drones are a viable threat to the Wraith the sooner I can turn my intellect to more important areas.” He reached for John, hoping to get him to lie down with him.

“I’m glad you’re not worried.” John knelt to untie Rodney’s shoes and then his own. “You’re right, there’s no reason to be worried.” He successfully got Rodney stripped down to his boxers. “Lorne and the pilots from the SGC are good guys. We work well together. I’m hoping we can keep them when we see how successful this trial run is.” He gently pushed Rodney back into the pillows. “It’s going to be a complete success. You’re a genius, after all.”

“Shut and kiss me.” Rodney maneuvered John down beside him.

He was snoring before John could come through with the kiss.

Now:

John watched Rodney jitter for a minute before deciding an intersession was needed. He reached over and snatched the travel mug from Rodney’s hand and gestured at a nearby tech to come collect it.

“You give that back, Sheppard.” He glared at the hapless gate tech, “You shouldn’t come between a scientist and his coffee.”

“You’re practically vibrating, McKay. How ‘bout a nice cup of herbal tea instead?”

“You’re not nearly as cute as you think you are.” Rodney slumped, all bluster gone. “You’ll be careful, won’t you? And you’ll keep the cloak on?”

John smiled and patted Rodney’s check. “I’ll be careful. We’ll all be careful. And we’ll keep the cloaks on.” He took a step back when the brass and his CO entered the gateroom.

“Got to go.”

…

General O’Neill spoke into the mic, addressing the pilots in their jumpers. “Good hunting, gentlemen, and god speed.” He stepped aside, ceding to Pherson as base commander.

“The hive is holding in the same position as last check. Stay sharp, and good luck.”

He turned to the gate tech. “Dial the gate.”

Rodney watched as the wormhole opened and the first jumper lowered into position. Jumper One. John’s jumper. It flowed through the event horizon, followed closely by four others. The gate shut down after the fifth jumper passed through, leaving Rodney behind.

…

Atlantis Base, this is Blackjack One, do you copy?”

Rodney smirked at the ‘handle’ he’d given John. Just a little dig at his gambling past.

“This is Atlantis Base, we read you, Blackjack.” Rodney checked the sensors again, “Joker is still just sitting there. Dark and quiet.”

“Roger that, base. Initiating radio silence for the duration. Blackjack squadron to begin run on my mark.”

“Mark.”

Then:

“If we can get this drone work done, we can start working on the plans or the first Pegasus coffee roastery.” Rodney’s priorities were never in doubt. Once Planet Coffee had been discovered some months back, he’d been arguing the necessity of a roastery on the mainland. Halling, ever helpful, had been scouting locations for weeks

“The samples we brought back were delicious, we could sell them and fund education for the Athosian kids.” Rodney’s priorities were never in doubt, and never as selfish as he’d like everyone to believe.

“One task at a time, Guide.”

Now:

“Holy shit!”

“Keep it buttoned Blackjack Two.” Holy shit, indeed. The hive seemed to be developing leprosy. As soon as the modified drones had made contact with their salty payload, large swaths of exoskeleton began peeling away. Darts began launching, hoping to avoid the fate of the larger ship but the infection seemed to be spread to many of them as well. John watched, fascinated as the hive broke into pieces and began to drift apart.

“Blackjack Squadron form up. We’ve got darts to take out.”

…

“Blackjack Squadron, this is Atlantis Base, do you copy?” The gate tech shot McKay a nervous glance before repeating his call.

The gateroom had erupted with cheers when the sensors showed the hive breaking up, but the failure to contact the squadron had sobered the mood to one of nervous tension.

Rodney paced. He can’t be dead, he thought. Surely, I’d know if he was dead.

“Repeating, this is Atlantis Base calling Blackjack Squadron, do you copy?”

The tech looked over at the general’s and Colonel Pherson. “Should I keep trying?”

“Atlantis Base, this is Blackjack One. Joker is destroyed. No casualties. We’re heading home.”

Rodney muscled the tech away from the mic, “Well done, Blackjack. Come home.” To me, Rodney thought. Always to me.

“Roger that.”


End file.
